How to Graduate Without Magic
by The StoryEater
Summary: My name is Nate. I thought I was sneaking into some fancy drama camp for free food. Next thing I know, there's a talking hat on my head demanding to know what I'm doing here at "Hogwarts." And why's everyone calling me a "muggle"? (SYOC story, set after the events of HP)
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

I don't dream often. But that ceiling full of gray clouds and a car-sized moon tells me I am. So then, why does everything feel so… _real_?

For like the hundredth time, I take a long look around the "Great Hall." I'm in a giant castle—this place they call "Hogwarts"—full of kids wearing funky graduation gowns and waving wooden sticks. There are hundreds of us. Boys and girls, all around my age, seated along a huge table filled with plates of half-eaten food. They're all chatting about… _sorting? Houses? Gryffin…what?_ I haven't the faintest clue what they're talking about.

 _Is this what rich kids do in their free time?_

"Hey," a boy with ginger hair next to me pokes my elbow. "Where are your robes and wand?"

I stare at him, then down at myself. I'm still wearing weather-beaten Chicago Bulls hoodie and grimy jeans picked up from the charity shop near King's Cross. At the total of three pounds, seventy shillings.

"Didn't feel like putting it on. It makes me...itchy."

That's a lie. I didn't have the money to buy all the fancy gear other kids have. That boy's not the first to ask that question. I see few kids staring, murmuring, nudging chins at me.

"But…you'll get in trouble! You heard what Professor Longbottom told us at the entrance hall!" He looks really serious, nervous even. _What a geek._

"Come on, we're all gonna change into pajamas later anyway, right?" I crack a joke, winking, trying to smooth things over. The boy looks at me blankly, then turns to kids on the other side of him. I'm pretty sure he's rolling his eyes.

Alright, to be honest, I don't have any money, period. Not for that train ticket, and certainly not enough to pay entrance fee for...wherever here is.

I'm guessing this is some sort of a drama camp. Or a fantasy role-playing camp. You know, one of those places where kids with loving parents sign up to pretend to be princesses and wizards? Everyone I saw on the train seemed so excited. I thought it weird anyone could get that worked up over playing imaginary. But I didn't want to sound out of place or worse, get booted off the train. So I kept my mouth shut.

My plate is sitting empty, except for a few chicken bones with gristle on top. I admit, I was pretty impressed when that lady playing head counselor—Headmistress McGonagall or something—waved her stick around and made the food appear out of nowhere. An awesome trick. I still haven't figured out how she did it. A simple bait and switch? Mirror tricks? Maybe there's some hidden mechanism, a lift that brings stuff up from below. I spent nearly fifteen minutes looking for hidden seams in the table before noticing I was drawing too much attention.

The food was real, though. Chicken, roast beef, trifles, cakes…the best meal I've had in a while. A hundred times better than mum's bland frozen chow mein. They must've spent hundreds of thousands of quid setting this place up. I mean, those hologram ghosts alone are so realistic! Like the stuff they use in Hollywood. The Star Wars-grade tech.

A realization strikes me. _Of course._ This must all be special effects! One of those startup entertainment companies, renting a whole castle and costumes to draw in young fantasy fans. Kinda odd they didn't cover the opening in the paper or on TV, but whatever.

I begin to feel more relaxed, happy that I took the risk when I did. I smile back those ogling eyes, even wave back. _So what if I'm surrounded by spoiled kids and dazzling CGI?_ The meal alone had been worth it. True, I probably won't get to go back to London for a while. But what have I got to miss in _London_? Until they catch me and drag my scrawny butt back to my foster parents, I can just bum a few free meals and mess around with these theater nerds for a while. A page for my life journal.

Then that old hat on the stool starts talking, and I completely lose my shit.

* * *

I have no idea how long I've been sitting there, mouth open. At first I thought it was just another CGI. An animatronic, or puppet work. But seeing these campers go up and put it on , I realize there's nothing controlling it. Not even invisible strings. Even I know our technology hasn't come that far. I don't even know what it's supposed to be.

 _Am I seeing things? Is THAT an actual ghost?_

I soon figure out that the hat is "sorting" the campers into four groups. _Gryffindor. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff. Slytherin._ For Chrissakes, is that hat _calling our names_?! Once sorted, each person leaves for the houses tables. Thunderous cheers—and jeers—ring out after each announcement. Our table grows emptier as minutes pass by.

This is no longer funny. I can feel chill crawling down my back. Maybe if I sneaked out of here now…if I could just find my way back to the station, I could make it to London before dawn tomorrow…

Suddenly, I realize all's gone quiet. I blink, and see everyone looking at me. _Everyone. Campers. Counselors._ _The ghosts._ Even that freaky scary-ass hat. Wrinkles of its face are frowning.

I'm the only one left at the table. This is not good.

"You, boy!" the hat shouts. "How come I don't know your name?! Who are you?"

I freeze. A wave of confused murmur spreads across the hall like an oil spill.

 _And this...is where I get busted._

"Umm," I stammer. "I'm Nate. Nate Liang. I...uh...arrived late. Forgot to bring some stuff from home, and I..."

"Where is your robe, Mr. Liang?" "Headmistress" McGonagall glares me. The same way those idiots at the Social Services do at every appointment. "Haven't you read your acceptance letter? Or paid attention to your prefects?"

"Ah…I…also forgot it?" I flash a smile. It is not returned.

"Never mind that! Let's get this over and done with," the hat grumbles. "Come over here, Nate Liang!"

It feels like forever just to stand up. I shuffle forward like prisoner on death row, trying to shut out all the staring, muttering, and giggling. I slowly lift the hat up onto my head, pausing just enough to check there's really nothing in there. Nope. Nothing. No gears, no batteries, _nada,_ none.

I sit still on the stool, praying this unnatural creature won't swallow my head or crush my skull between its folds.

"I'm not a monster, you stupid kid," the hat snaps. "Now let's see what house—wait…what?"

"Please," I whisper, my eyes shut. My hands are shaking so bad. "I didn't mean to crash without paying! I was just hungry, honest!"

"By Merlin's beard…!" the hat whispers in shock. "You're…a muggle!"

* * *

 **Hope you've enjoyed the bit!**


	2. SYOC Sheet

Feel free to use the sheet below to submit your own OC. I will also put this template up on my profile!

If anyone would like to submit Professors, do let me know.

* * *

 **Basic Information**

Full name:  
Nickname:  
Gender:  
Nationality:  
Date of Birth:  
Blood Status:  
Wand:

 **Appearance**

Hair Color:  
Hair Style:  
Eye Color:  
Skin Tone:  
Height:  
Weight:  
Clothing Style:  
Accessories:  
Other Distinguishing Features:

 **Personality**

Personality:  
Likes:  
Dislikes:  
Strengths:  
Weaknesses:  
Hobbies:  
Fears:  
Future Goals:

 **Family**

Family Background:  
Pet:  
Hometown:  
Social Standing:

 **Hogwarts**

Year:  
House:  
Signature Spell:  
Subject:  
Favorite Subject:  
Worst Subject:  
Least Favorite Subject:  
Extracurricular Activities:  
Relationships:

Other:

* * *

1\. This story starts out in 2023, three years after the end of _Cursed Child._ Albus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, and Rose Granger Weasley are in their final year of Hogwarts, Lily Potter in her fifth. Other familiar characters also remain at Hogwarts, including Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Professor Neville Longbottom, and of course, Rubeus Hagrid.

2\. In this fictional timeline, the student body at Hogwarts has grown more diverse, due to a sizable enrollment of international students. Some hail from usual sending countries like India or China. But others come from conflict zones in Africa, Middle East, and Eastern Europe, children of wizard refugees fleeing war and political instability. Their presence at Hogwarts present both opportunities and challenges for the staff.

3\. The following OC positions need to be filled ASAP. The deadline is this Sunday, April 8th, with possible extensions.

\- Hogwarts janitor

\- A bully, or bullies, who do not have to be Slytherin

\- Students, both British and international

\- Hogwarts Librarian and Nurse

\- Professors for: Arithmancy, Study of Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Muggle Studies and Divination

\- Newer members of the Order of Phoenix

4\. This started from an idea of a muggle trying to make it in Hogwarts without magic. It's full of holes, and I'm also rusty on HP lore. Feel free to rip me a new criticism, or two.

Have fun, and let's see where this goes!


	3. Step 1: Find a Reason to Stay

**Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own Harry Potter and any affiliated franchises.**

 **I have not picked up a Harry Potter book in a long time. Some of the finer details regarding characters and lore, therefore, will escape my notice.**

 **I will likely make mistakes when trying to recreate canon characters.**

 **I welcome any and all advice, so that I may continuously edit the story.**

* * *

 **Step #1: Find a Reason to Stay**

* * *

" _Obliviate_ "

I blink, and tap a finger against the stick hovering in front of my nose.

"Was that supposed to do something?"

Professor Longbottom draws back his "wand" and stares at me, baffled. He's a fine looking fella, with dark brown widow's peak and a day-old stubble peppered across his chiseled jawline. A lot of chicks back home would dig his boyish smile and hazel eyes.

He told me he teaches "herbology" here. I don't see why a glorified gardener deserves the title of a professor. But I'm not the one making up camp rules.

Then again, this place is not a camp. It's something more. Something impossible, but yet incredible.

"Well…it should've erased your memory. Make you forget everything you've seen here," Professor Longbottom scratches his head. "Feel any different?"

"Let's see," I start folding my fingers one by one. "Funky robes, clouds on the ceiling, real ghosts, moving gargoyles, and a freaky talking hat. Nope, still there. Enough for nightmares, and then some."

"Looks like it wasn't just you, Headmistress." Professor Longbottom turns with a shrug. "You think there was something wrong with my spell?"

"Of course there was nothing wrong with your incantation, Professor Longbottom. You've come far since your days at this school. Even Ms. Granger would complement on your progress."

He looks embarrassed, but proud. That woman sitting behind the desk, though, doesn't seem as happy.

Headmistress McGonagall. The head honcho in charge of this operation, apparently. The graying hair of her bun tells me she's old, but she doesn't seem like the sort who'd enjoy feeding pigeons or pass out drunk in front of the TV. She sits ram-rod straight, green eyes glaring from behind a pair of glasses. Hell, her poise alone could give the Queen a run for her money.

Even this office takes after her. Drab, neat, slightly suffocating. It's got everything you'd expect an office to have. Books on shelves, desk, a few chairs… There's also an empty stone basin on a pedestal and the red-and gold flag of Gryffindor hanging from the wall. Fire crackles in the fireplace behind the desk, bathing the windowless space with warm light.

The only thing in here worth looking is that dope ruby-encrusted sword hanging in a glass cabinet.

"I must admit, Mr. Liang, I find your presence…disconcerting. Never in my life—or wizard history, for that matter—have I seen a case like yours. By all counts you're a muggle. But somehow you've managed to find your way into Hogwarts, past the countermeasures that should've confounded someone such as yourself. What is more, conventional spells don't seem to have a noticeable effect on you."

"By Cameron's Pig," I whistle softly. "So you're actually saying this shit's all real? Magic, wizarding school, all that? There's really a society of wizards hidden in plain sight? You guys the ones behind the Illuminati and everything?"

"I don't know what this 'Illuminati' is supposed to be," says McGonagall. "As for the rest…yes. This is hardly an ideal introduction to our world. But everything you've seen so far is genuine. Ghosts, spells, our students, the sorting hat…"

I glance at the battered hat sitting on top of the corner stool. Swear to God, that thing's still glaring at me. And so are a lot of the old men in those portraits, frowning and shaking their heads.

Strangely enough, I'm not as unnerved by the moving photos. I guess it's like staring into Skype windows full of geezers.

"So your spell didn't affect me, did it?" I grin, sliding leisurely down my chair and crossing my legs. "Does that mean I'm special? Am I some sort of a super wizard, like in the comic books?"

"No, Mr. Liang, you're not special," McGonagall snaps. "You're but a curiosity, an annoyance this school would do well without. If I could, I'd erase your memory and send you as far away from here as possible. Just be grateful we've chosen to handle this affair with tact."

"What is more," she adds, voice frosty "You've been behaving in a decidedly rude manner ever since your arrival here. May I remind you, proper etiquette and language are not just for wizards?"

"And you're treating me like dirt!" I snarl. "Thumbing your nose at me. Throwing fancy words and whatnot. You don't scare me! I've met worse teachers and wankers down at the welfare office. So what, you think you're better than me just because you can do some fancy magic tricks?!"

The portraits begin shouting in outrage.

 _"Brazen disrespect to the headmistress of Hogwarts!? Unacceptable!"_

 _"Banish him, I say! Banish him!"_

 _"Throw him into the Forbidden Forest! No one will miss a muggle…"_

Old men and women brandishing their fists and canes, shouting threats and protests. I stick my tongue out, and let the insults wash over me like rain.

 _I mean, what are they going to do, hit me?_

I notice that one portrait remains silent. A picture of an old man, with a long silver beard and half-moon glasses. He looks at me, eyes twinkling, an amused grin playing about his lips. Meeting my gaze, he give me a subtle wink.

McGonagall returns a cold smile as the noise dies down somewhat. "I've faced down men more terrifying than you can imagine, Mr. Liang. Tantrums will not help your case at all, nor let us understand the nature of this dilemma."

"Why don't we, ah, go back to the beginning," Professor Longbottom interrupts. "Nate, tell us again how you've managed to board Hogwarts Express without drawing notice."

"Fine," I pull myself back up. "So, I've been wandering around King's Cross, yeah? Been out on the streets for three days, panhandling for change. Couldn't afford anything except for a cheeseburger and fries at McDonald's. Station's a good place 'cause of all the people always goin' on about. I end up with a few shillings, sometimes a pound."

"Why couldn't you just go home?" says McGonagall, raising an eyebrow.

I snort. "Dad died when I was five. Then Mum hooked up with this Asian fella, a bloody prick named Usman. Likes to hit me because I'm not his real son, see? I started running away when I was nine. Sometimes services put me up in a foster home, but that doesn't last very long. Then I'd go home and stay with mum, until Usman starts clobbering me again."

McGonagall and Longbottom exchange a look.

"Look, I'm not a pity case, okay? I've learned to survive on the streets, get by with what I got. That's something," I pause to backtrack. "Anyway…I was walking around the station, wondering where on earth I was going find my next meal, when I hear this family talking. Mom, dad, little boy, pushing a trolley with a big-ass owl on top. They were talking about this fancy feast at some ceremony. Babbling about all the food he could eat. So I started following 'em. Figured maybe if I could find a way to sneak in, I might avoid starving to death for a while. Even get away with some leftovers, you know?"

"And you didn't notice they were walking into a solid wall?"

I frown. "They were?"

"Platform Nine and a Three-quarters," says Professor Longbottom. "It's supposed to be invisible to muggles. They can't make it past the barrier even if they tried."

"Honestly, I had no idea. I was busy keeping my head down, trying to stick close but not too close. Couldn't have station guards asking me questions."

It's a trick I've picked up long ago, for crashing a party or a funeral. _Act like you belong there. Do not look anxious or hesitate._ Most of the time, people won't even notice you're there.

"So, yeah, I kept following until I heard a train whistle. I look up and there it was, a big bloody red engine, straight from an old western. I snuck onto the first car I saw while everyone else was busy loading trunks and saying goodbyes. Not a glance in my direction, I swear."

McGonagall shakes her head. "This is unbelievable."

"Yeah, like I said, I was hungry. I'd go anywhere for a good meal. And…" I hesitate, remembering the giddiness I had felt. "Everyone there at the platform looked so…happy. So excited. Hopeful. Kinda made me curious to see what the fuss was about."

"And did anyone on the Express think you were suspicious?"

"Nobody bothers you when you pretend to be asleep for most of the way up. Didn't have the energy to talk anyway."

Professor Longbottom can't help but chuckle. "I'd almost congratulate you on being so sly, Nate. Almost reminds me of my misadventures back in the school days."

"Those events took place under very different circumstances, Professor Longbottom," McGonagall frowns. "This is a serious breach of security. I shall petition the Ministry to double the personnel at King's Cross as soon as I can."

"Perhaps he's a squib. That's how he could've snuck in."

"What's a squib?" I ask.

"Someone born of wizard parents who lack magical talent. I thought I was one, until my great-uncle dropped me out of…well, it's a long story," Longbottom lean in, suddenly looking all curious and eager. "Have you ever seen your parents do anything…unusual? Using wands? Make something happen you couldn't explain away?"

"If my dad were wizard I'm sure he'd still be alive," I sigh. "And mum would've picked far better man than Usman. Or just fed me better."

"Are you sure? Nothing out of the ordinary about your parents?"

I think for a minute. "My mum smokes meth. Does that count?"

"Math?" Longbottom scowls. "How would one smoke numbers?"

It takes me everything not to burst out laughing.

"I am quite certain one of his ancestors was a wizard or a witch," Says McGonagall. "Nothing else would account for his peculiar ability."

"I still might have relatives back in Malaysia. Maybe they'd know more about my family history."

"There will be further investigations. We would not even rule out a visit to Southeast Asia if that becomes necessary," McGonagall glances at the wooden clock on her table. "But that is not the topic for discussion at this time. Classes are starting tomorrow, and the affairs of the students will require our fullest attention. For now, we need to settle what to do with you."

"This is a delicate matter," Professor Longbottom mutters. "We can't spare much time to study you. But nor can we keep this matter buried."

"Well…seeing I'm here already…" I venture, looking down and twiddling my thumbs. "Thought I might hang around here a bit longer. I want to check out more of this magic. Do some chores for food, maybe take a few classes. You said this was a school, right?"

I know I sound crazy. But the idea has been my head since the shock of discovering magic wore off. I mean, what person wouldn't find himself drawn to such wonderful power? Pulling off impossible tricks, turning dreams into reality…I can't help it. I would give an arm and a leg to learn more.

It's a gamble. Even so, my heart sinks when McGonagall shakes her head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Liang. You do not have the magical potential to cast even a rudimentary spell. Even if you could, we cannot accept you without understanding your ability to perceive us. Your priority should be returning to your home safe, hopefully without any memory of this experience."

"Home? Safe? Have you been to Peckham?" I clench my teeth at the memory. Anger, resentment, fear, everything I've kept at bay comes rushing in.

"I've seen three kids stabbed to death before I turned eight. Families trapped in council houses, getting high on drugs and bumming off government support while kids run scared cause no one's looking out for 'em! Girls can't go one day without getting groped or called a slag. You think I'd want to call that place home?!" My voice is rising, beyond my self-control.

"Mr. Liang—"

"What do I got back there worth living for, huh?! Why should I rot in that shithole like all the others? This whole bloody country doesn't care about us! The police doesn't care about us because we're bums! The politicians don't care about us because we're lowly immigrants!"

I think I'm crying. Funny. I've never cried before, not even when Usman whipped me, not even when I went days without food.

"You think you know what's best for me?! The hell do you know about life out there? What do you know about starving or staying safe, what with your magic giving everything you need? Ever think about helping out humble _muggles_ once in a while, instead of being all selfish and shit?!"

The office is silent. Not even the portraits are fidgeting.

"If magic could solve all our problems, Mr. Liang, we would. Ours and yours," McGonagall doesn't even blink. "But the world does not work that way. Introducing such great power to _everyone_ will breed nothing but conflict."

"But—"

"Magic is not what you think, Nate," Professor Longbottom chimes in, sounding more sympathetic. "It's full of mysteries and danger we cannot always handle. A close friend of mine lent her muggle history book. You know of _new-clear energy_ , yes?So much potential, and yet muggles used it to kills hundreds of thousands. I wish mankind has grown more mature since. But unfortunately, we all know better."

"I just want to change things," I whisper, sniffling. "I…I don't want to live like this anymore."

"You may pity yourself as much as you like," says McGonagall. "But we cannot risk the safety of innocent wizards just for the sake of one person."

I sink into my chair. My legs feel heavy, and only then do I realize how long and far I had traveled in one day.

"So, then you're going to kick me out?"

"I could. Even if you told anyone about what you saw, none would believe you. They'd think you mad, even put you in a hospital."

"But…that would also rob us a chance to delve into your mystery. A compromise is needed, I think."

McGonagall spends some time in deep thought.

"We will let you stay here, for time being," she says at length. "We must find out what's causing your condition. If you can remain immune to magic, then there's no telling other muggles will be similarly affected. We must prevent that from happening again."

"Do you think the Ministry could help?" asks Professor Longbottom.

"I think it best that they do not. Some of our closest friends may understand. But many will react poorly to the existence of a muggle like Mr. Liang. Especially those radicals of the _Vox Britannia_."

"What's that?" I ask.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with," McGonagall says. "As I was saying, you will stay at Hogwarts. But not with students in the dormitories. A spare chamber will be made ready for you near the staffroom, where you will sleep and take your meals. As a part of your cover, we shall also arrange a job for you on the school grounds. I have already issued an announcement that you are a squib who had hoped to be admitted. A shaky explanation at best…but I hope no one bothers to look into it closely."

"You must also realize that any extended interaction with the students could reveal your secret and jeopardize your stay here. You will therefore keep any social contact to a bare minimum. And you will never wander around the castle without permission. My colleagues and I shall test and study you on spare time away from our responsibilities. Professor Longbottom will keep an eye on you as well as he can."

"How am I supposed to entertain myself, then?" I grumble.

McGonagall's lips tighten. "I expect you'll be too busy to worry about that."

"I think we should also do something about your clothes," Professor Longbottom smiles.

"What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Where shall we start?" McGonagall snorts. "Your three silver earrings? That nose piercing? Those smelly muggle clothes? And what about that Maori tattoo peeking out of your sleeve? A little effort to remain inconspicuous wouldn't hurt."

"I'm sure we'll come up with everything we need," Professor Longbottom stifles a yawn. "Look, it's late. I need to prepare a hundred bouncing bulbs for class demonstration tomorrow, and they're a headache to keep still. Why don't I take Nate here to his room? We can hammer out the rest of the details over the next few days."

"That'd be for the best, Professor."

With Professor Longbottom's help, I stagger out of the seat towards the door. Sleep weighs heavy on my eyes, and my head still feels dizzy trying to wrap around everything. Come morning, thing would make more sense. Or so I hope.

"Mr. Liang."

I turn around. McGonagall is looking at me, still calm and detached, with a dowager's grace. But now, there's some warmth in her eyes. I feel my defiance towards her suddenly waver.

"I realize you've had a difficult life. You've seen what no one deserves to see, and deprived of comforts every muggle and wizard naturally yearns for. But your past does not have to define who you are."

"I've had students who suffered tragedies, much like yourself. Broken homes. Neglect. Loss of family…" her eyes briefly settle on Professor Longbottom, and I see him return a heavy nod.

"And yet, those students refused to be held down. They fought back against their demons, and in the end, grew into remarkable individuals with great courage and spirit. And in overcoming their circumstances, they have provided hope and inspiration to those who needed them most. Many are my close friends today, and I consider it a supreme privilege to have taught and inspired them."

I cannot meet her eyes. I'm so used to meeting sermons with cynicism. But the genuine passion in her voice fills me with shame instead.

"You may bemoan your lack of magical talent, Mr. Liang. But greatness does not come from a tip of a wand, but from the choices you make. And even the best wizards in history have failed in that regard. So what choices will you make? Turn to resentment for what cannot be? Or seek no less precious lessons within your reach?"

To this day, I do not remember how I answered that question. But on some nights when I fall asleep, the ghost of a smile I saw on McGonagall back then rises to the fore of my memory.

It was the first time anyone has ever looked at me with expectation and hope.

* * *

 **R &R! **

**I still need a Hogwarts caretaker!**


End file.
